The Podcast
by Old School Fan
Summary: Stone Cold Steve Austin gets an interview and then some from a certain two time Hall of Famer.


Dip in the lip, well I'll be damned. I never took Ric Flair for the dipping kind. He casually pulls it out before we start recording the podcast. "It puts me at ease," he informs me when he sees me eyeing the Skoal.

"Sure, whatever you need," I say. "And we have plenty of beer."

He smiles and for some reason, I find myself blushing. I look away quickly to my audio guy. "Hey Moe, you ready yet?"

"Yes sir," he says.

So I proceed to introduce Ric Flair to my listening audience. I inform them that we are indeed coming to them from Ric's hotel room. I'm nervous as hell being in the same room with this guy I had admired since before I broke into the business but as this thing proceeds, I start to relax a bit. It doesn't feel like an interview anymore. More like a friendly conversation and an engrossing one at that. I find myself watching him with more interest than I ought to. I start to notice the little things. The way his eyes light up and dance mischievously when he tells a story. The movement of his mouth. The way he tilts his head. That little flap of skin at his neck that moves when he talks. I wonder if anyone's ever nibbled on it. I shake my head. _Now you're thinking about the old man's neck._ _Snap out of it, Steve._

I reach for a beer, press the can to my flaming face before popping it open. Ric's watching me with a little smirk on his lips. That guy doesn't miss a thing. I start thinking of a way to end our little chat without seeming too abrupt.

When the podcast is finished, I go to shake Ric's hand and thank him again for his time.

Instead of shaking my hand, he pulls me into a hug, pressing his warm body against mine, his lips at my ear. "Get rid of Andre Agassi over there," he whispers hotly, "and I'll give you what you really came here for."

I look over at Moe who does in fact look like Andre Agassi. "Moe, Ric and I have some more things to discuss. Why don't you get going? I'll catch up to you later."

He nods, gathers up his equipment, scurries toward the door, but stops long enough to stammer. "It was an honor to meet you Mr. Flair."

"Of course it was, kid. I'm the one and only Ric Flair."

* * *

"You don't do humble well, do you?" I chuckle once Moe is gone.

"He's cute," Ric says approvingly, then takes a swig of beer. "I see why you have him around. And to answer your question, it's hard to be humble when you're Ric Flair."

"You can drop the act. There are no cameras here. No public. Just you and me. Now Ric, I want to know what you meant by that little comment. 'You're going to give me what I really came here for?'"

"It was just talk, Steve. That's all." He examines his manicured nails as if bored. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm meeting the boys for drinks."

"I want to know what you meant."

He raises a plucked eyebrow. "What do you want it to mean?"

He has the upper hand and he knows it. He's playing with me, trying to get me to admit to things. "Never mind. I don't care what you meant. I'm outta here." I make for the door, wanting to put an end to what's quickly turning into a humiliating experience. I feel a soft hand gripping my arm. He turns me around

"A long time ago, Steve, you said there was something about the way I looked that made you a fan. Are you still a fan?"

He's biting his lip, something he does when he's nervous. I look him over in the harsh, unforgiving glare of the hotel room lighting. He looks away.

"I used to have a lot of fans," he says wistfully. "Of course I was young and beautiful then. It's okay if you're not a fan anymore."

"Are you kidding me?" I cup his chin and force him to look at me. "I'm probably the biggest goddamn Ric Flair fan there is."

* * *

To make a long story short, we start going at it hot and heavy. I get to taste that neck and other parts of him. He's on his belly, face buried in the pillow, plump behind in the air and I get to licking him back there, flicking my tongue over his rosebud, pushing it inside of him. He's squirming, moaning, white knuckled grip on the sheets. I get him nice and ready, lube myself up, flip him onto his back, and go deep. A cell phone rings. We ignore it. The bed is rocking. Then Moe comes knocking despite the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.

"I think I left my phone!" He calls from outside the door. "Did you hear it ring?"

"Make him go away..." Ric pants.

"Tough shit!" I holler back at Moe. "We're busy! Come back later!"

Ric's legs are wrapped around my waist. He's grinding himself against my cock as if he can't get enough of it inside of him while shrilly screaming my name and demanding that I fuck him harder. I have to remember to gag him next time.

* * *

We collapse, sweaty and sated. I stroke his thigh. He looks at me with questioning eyes. "Did you..."

"Yeah," I respond, pulling him to me and kissing his worried brow. "I got what I came for."

THE END


End file.
